


Journey to the Line

by Kopious



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Frosthawk - Freeform, Gen, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:59:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1600766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kopious/pseuds/Kopious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colonel Nick Fury assembles a ragtag team of "Avengers" to lead a regiment during World War II in the Pacific. Captain Steve Rogers and privates Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Donald "Thor" Blake, and others become close; However, the war threatens to tear apart everything they gain. (Roughly based on Malick's adaptation of the Thin Red Line).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

World War II lasts from 1939 until 1945.

On the morning of December 7th, 1941, Japanese forces perform a surprise military strike upon the United Naval Base at Pearl Harbour, Hawaii.

December 8th, 1941, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signs a declaration of war against Japan.

Thus, the war in the Pacific begins.

 

_We were not heroes, by any means. We weren’t champions for the children back home to idolize; we weren’t victors that families wanted to admire. No, we were only a ragtag team drawn together by some force that summer.  Who really knows what brought us so close? Colonel Nicolas Fury drew us into a team, but who told him to do so? Was it intuition, or direct orders? I never got a chance to ask him. We were humble. We were soldiers, bent on serving the United States; for what purpose, I still do not know. The Avengers was what our regiment’s men called us. Who were The Avengers? There was the depressed super-soldier and a wealthy boy trying to live a normal life; the failed scientist, and the orphaned archer. There was the adopted son, and his godly half-brother…The Avengers. An assorted mess, destined for greatness._

_This is our story._

 ***

He did not know at the time, but Captain Steve Rogers was the first Avenger. He arrived on the beach alongside a large group of men, all boarded on three landing crafts. Waiting on the shore was a scrappy camp—few soldiers idled along the small seaboard, half-heartedly toting rifles while stalking up and down the short stretch of sand. The camp, hardly able to support no more than 35 men, served as a rendezvous point for American forces.

The font end of the craft opened up and the soldiers spilled out, bearing their rifles above their heads as they entered the water and waded towards the shore. The sullen expression that covered Steve’s face vanished as soon as he entered the water; it was replaced by a look of sudden fear and exhilaration. 

 _We enter the war thinking it’ll be over in no time. Little do we know is that drags on, endlessly, taking with it hundreds of innocent men._ Steve shook his head at the thought, and moved into the water.

A gentle breeze pushed softly through the dense shoreline palms, their fronds ruffling against one another. Quiet waves lapped against the beach, lazily pulling back and pushing forward sand. The sun was positioned far above the horizon, its heat radiating upon the mass of soldiers. The air, thick with the heavy scent of cigarette smoke, sweat, and sea salt, was the first thing to strike Steve upon arriving to the island. The ocean’s cool water enveloped him, soaking him to the bone.

 _When I was a kid, I always looked forward to playing in the sea. Never did I think that I’d be_ playing _in it for different reasons._

“Welcome to Paradise Island, boys,” a voice boomed. Once his feet were firmly planted ashore, Steve shook off and lowered his gun. The source of the voice was a large man, seemingly 60-something years old. He strode down the beach towards the landing site, happily greeting and patting the shoulders of anyone who passed him. “Which’n of you men goes by Captain Steve Rogers?”

“At your service, sir,” Steve saluted, cutting through the arriving crowd to meet the man.

With a hearty smile, the man saluted Steve in return. “At ease, soldier. Nice to finally meet a living legend like yourself,” he laughed. “I’m Colonel Nicolas Fury, your superior for the time being.”

“I’m honoured to serve under your command, Colonel.”

“It’ll be a pleasant change ‘round these parts with you here, Cap’n Rogers. It’ll boost the morale of my men.”

“I am glad that I can help, sir.”

Fury outstretched his hand and shook Steve’s before swinging his arm around the captain’s shoulders. They walked opposite of the flow of men, Steve listening intently to the colonel’s words as he spoke. Fury, built like a building with dark, scarred skin, was the happiest man Steve Rogers had met since the war began. It was a little displeasing.

“You received my letter, I assume?” Fury asked, motioning for Steve to put his pack down beside a crate. Fury sat on a rock opposite of the crate, where in turn, Steve sat to face the man.

“Yes, it relieved me of duty in Europe.”

“I hope that was not a burden on my behalf, Rogers…”

Steve heaved a deep sigh, his hand falling on the back of his neck. “No, Colonel. To be honest, I’m thankful to be out of there.”

“I’d imagine.”

The captain grunted in agreement.

For a few minutes, the two sat in silence as they watched new recruits hop off of arriving crafts. Birdsong echoed in the distance, while nearer to the camp a chorus of insects in the nearby brush serenaded the men.

“Well,” Fury began, standing again. “Sit tight for the meantime. You and your team do not leave until dawn with the new regiment.”

“My…team?”

***

The last landing craft that floated further out in Paradise Island’s lagoon carried Fury’s final recruits. The sun was in the process of its last decent beyond the horizon—the sky was on fire, painted with its dying hues of reds, oranges, and pink. Private Clint Baton, whose eyes had been previously set on the island, broke their endless gaze to look up. Stars began to emerge from beneath the darkening atmosphere as the sun finally disappeared into the deep.  

_My first night, and probably my last._

He leaned against the left end of the craft. The men around him were silent, except for the occasional cough or sniff. He knew none of them—his buddies, whom had enlisted alongside Barton, had been deported to Europe. Barton was a reserved man. Being so, he was not one for making friends. _Besides_ , he thought, _why have friends here if they’re probably going to die?_

When _the_ Depression hit, his father grew more abusive. Clint promptly left when the opportunity presented itself to become a wanderer and float across the country by way of the railroad. Empty boxcars became his home for years until he caught news of the draft. The first peacetime draft offered a new prospect for Clint—to serve his country. As corrupt and broken as the States were, the idea still lifted his heart and raised his hopes.

The same had been for Bruce Banner. Living not the common life of a drifting vagrant like Clint Barton, Bruce Banner managed to keep his position as a student teacher in New York throughout the Depression. Science was Banner’s only passion. He cared not for sports or for picture shows, but rather for chemicals and research. However, the draft was an excellent excuse to leave the laboratory and to forget failed experiments. On the brink of bankruptcy, and suffering from an array of anger issues (not to mention mild depression), Banner saw the draft as a way to get out of the house, per se.

_I need to break out of my shell. I need to experience life before I lose my mind._

Banner and Barton, two future friends, stood next to each other as the craft crept deeper and deeper into the lagoon. The back opened up once the shore was close, and soldiers began to file out. The two glanced at each other briefly, and then threw their rifles into the air before entering the water.

***

Anthony Stark had been ashore for half a day. He sat beyond the camp with the other soldiers from his regiment. They crowded a dim fire, picking at their nails and nodding off as the night eased on. Stark was a handsome man who, somehow, still managed to look presentable. He leaned against a palm trunk, absentmindedly stroking his unshaven chin.

“More men,” someone sitting by the fire murmured. Stark looked up. The sound of splashing water and voices increased suddenly. Colonel Fury’s landmark “Welcome to Paradise Island,” greeting rang out again, even at the dead of night.

“Damn, that’s a lot of us,” another man cut in. “How many d’ya think, Don?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Sure does make ya’ think—who’s home with our wives?” The two men laughed together. Stark, still leaning against the palm a few feet from the fire, could make out their faces against the light of the hazy fire. Both were presumably tall, though one, “Don”, was bulkier than the other. Don had intense muscle structure, not to mention a striking face that made him look…well, almost godlike. The other man was thinner and had a ghastly look to him, though his stature was regal nonetheless. His hair, crew-cut and slicked back, was jet black. They giggled together like schoolgirls, nudging one another every so often.

“You two ‘ve got strange accents,” Stark piped up, standing and approaching the fire. They looked up.

“We’re Norse,” the black-haired one replied.

“You sound more British to me. Tony Stark.”

“I’m Donald Blake,” the blonde-one said.

“I’m Tom.”

“Don and Tom? Cute,” Tony murmured, grabbing a handful of grass and throwing it into the fire. “Nice to meet you, Don and Tom.”

“They call me Thor, actually,” Don mused. “And he, Loki—“ Tom nodded.

“Thor and Loki? Like the gods, eh? What’d you studs do to get those affiliations?”

They looked at each other, and then shrugged. Tony snorted.

 

***

Dew covered every inch of every surface across the beach. Steve, sleeping on his side over a thin strip of canvas, opened his eyes slowly. Dawn came sooner than he had expected. The waves that lapped quietly against the sand send him into a state of disorientation. For a brief moment, he saw his childhood and the time he spent on the beaches of New York. He could smell aroma of food floating from the stretch of boardwalk, and he could see the hundreds of beachgoers stretched out upon the coast. He could hear the distant drone of cars, the close chatter of women and the occasional bark of a dog.

_Where has the time gone?_

He sat up, and reality hit him again. No dogs, no women, no fair rides and fun food. Just war.

“God,” Steve muttered under his breath, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

Unlike boot-camp, no trumpet woke him up with reveille. This pleased him—Steve had told himself that he’d lose it if he had to hear it one more time in his life.

Soldiers rose quickly and dressed into their gear. Steve did the same—he threw on his field jacket, slipped on fresh socks and boots, and then slung his pack over his shoulders.

Colonel Fury, who had been dressed down the day before, now wore a proper military uniform. He stood on a crate, looking down at a pad of paper.

“Those who I call report to me. Let’s see…Captain Steve Rogers and privates…Clinton Barton, Bruce Banner, Anthony Stark, and Donald Blake. Front and centre, men.”

Thor and Loki, standing next to each other, exchanged glances. Thor stepped forward and cut through the crowd. Bruce, Steve, Clint, and Tony did the same.

“Alright, the rest of y’all, disperse. You-“ Fury took a moment to count their heads “-five; you all have been assigned duty here on Paradise Island under my command. Once out there fighting, you’ll answer only to this man right here.” Fury motioned to Steve. “He is your Captain. And Steve, you will only answer to me. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir,” Steve said. The rest nodded.

“Good. Now, you may not think it, but you men are the best that I could get my hands on. You may not believe it, though your previous commanding officers did. You were put on rosters and set to me.”

“I’ve not served in combat yet, Colonel Fury—I don’t understand how I—“

“Did I say you could speak, Private Banner? No? Then shut up.” Bruce looked down in embarrassment.

“May I ask why you are, erm, assembling us, sir?” Tony asked.

“I was just about to get there. You five are serving as an example for the rest of the recruits here. I’m not going to lie; it’ll be hell to take down the Japs on this here island. They’ve got an intense base up beyond those hills far yonder— Captain Steve, you and your men will be in primary command once the regiment splits from this camp and heads to begin the campaign. You’ll call the shots once up there, all five of you. Understand?”

The five stood in silence.

“Yes, sir,” Clint spoke.

“Excellent. You four have got a renowned super-soldier at command; I know we’ll take Paradise Island for the Allies.”

**_End of Part One._ **


	2. What We're Fighting For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Steve Rogers and his team of Avengers lead a battalion during the war in the Pacific. After receiving orders from Colonel Fury, they set out through the forest to reach their destination. Upon reaching their sought-out target, Fury’s battalion begins their fight.

_Few words passed between us once Colonel Fury left to give more orders. Hell, I didn’t know the other men on my team by name once we left camp. We had no time for formal introductions, just talk of campaign strategies._

They were off to fight once the sun had peaked. Past Fury’s camp and the cluster of palm trees was an endless stretch of tropical jungle. The canopy was thick with dense foliage, allowing little light to shine unto the forest floor. Exotic wildlife danced overhead as insects floated leisurely through the muggy air. The temperature slowly increased as the unit wandered deeper into the jungle.

If paranoia had not enveloped the scientist and heightened his sense of fear, Bruce Banner would have enjoyed nature’s display around him. Tropics of any sort were foreign to him—Banner had spent his academic time researching atomic and chemical theories instead of biology and wildlife. Nonetheless, any chance he got to _gape_ at flora and fauna served as a sort of therapy.

_You’ll get your head blown off before you can stop and smell the roses…_

“This is like walking to an execution,” a voice muttered beside Bruce. Broken out of his thought, he turned to find the man speaking was the one he had stood next to in the landing craft; Clark _or something_ … Before Bruce could reply, _Clint_ had fallen back into line.

Over gigantic roots and across shallow streams, the unit continued its march through the jungle’s entanglements. Steve led at a steady pace, surveying every inch of the undergrowth that lay ahead of him.

“Why’s it called Paradise Island?” Tony grumbled from somewhere behind the Captain, smacking a mosquito dead on his neck. “It’s pretty hellish to me.”

“Get serious, private,” Steve retorted.

 

***

The first firefight began past noon. By then, the sun had crept high into sky and increased the air temperature by twenty degrees. The campaign met the edge of the jungle late in the morning, after the, as Thor had put it, _godless_ ten-mile hike through the rainforest. Once the treeline began to thin, Steve halted in his tracks. 

The unit stopped. Steve turned back and motioned to his team, _be ready_.

Ahead lay an unending clearing.

The ground in front of them sloped and curved to form knolls and ridges. The highest point of the clearing was a large hill, standing in contrast against the woodland behind it. From where Steve and the unit stood, the land which they were going to conquer...seemed endless.

Steve turned and stepped back slowly, almost bumping into Thor. “We’re to take the bunker,” the captain began, striding down the trail where the men stood. “It sits atop that hill, according to Colonel Fury. Past the bunker should be a camp; once we have gained the bunker, the camp will be easy to take out. Fury has a lot of faith in us. In fact, he thinks—hell, he _knows_ we can do this within a few weeks at the most. I’m expecting a lot out of you men. Is this clear?”

The team stood solemnly, staring at Rogers blankly. Few from the battalion grumbled quiet agreements.

“Right,” Steve huffed, turning back around to face the clearing. “Let’s head out.”

 

Rogers ran ahead in a low crouch, glancing behind him every moment once he entered the high grasses.

_We just have to make it to the ridge toda_ —Steve’s thoughts cut off. A machine gun from the camouflaged bunker suddenly went off, raining bullets upon the unit. Four men went down instantly. The team fell onto their stomachs. Steve and Clint took the first initiative to return fire, though they shortly learned that it was pointless.

“We’re too far back,” Clint murmured, falling on to his elbows to army crawl after Steve, who continued a hunkered-over jog towards the right edge of the field.

They gained little more than a yard before the captain ordered return fire; by then the unit was shielded behind the high edges of a grassy embankment.

Shots did not end for hours. During this time, Steve and his team made periodic attempts to gain more ground by inching deeper into the field.

 

“Y’ see that ridge?”

Together, huddled on their stomachs a few yards from the feature Steve spoke of, he and Tony slithered through the grasses.

Tony peeked up, his helmet sliding down and bumping the bridge of his nose. Gazing beyond the high-line of the reedy grass, he could see the rim. The clearing curved upwards at a steep angle until reaching the top of the bunker’s hill, where Tony figured the land plateau’d-off. The ground sloped at three or four noticeable places, where ridges sat as potential protection from the enemy. The grassland ahead was almost like looking at oddly curved stair steps, or like disproportionate terrace fields.

“Which one?” Tony asked, kneeling down again.

“The next, ten or so metres ahead.”

“Yeah, er—I mean, yes captain.”

Steve was in the middle of reloading his rifle. “We have to get the unit there before the day ends. Otherwise, we’ll be sleeping like sitting ducks out in the middle of these fields.”

“You really think we can _all_ hide behind it?” Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. Just hear me out for now; I hope I’m right with this...From the forest’s edge, _anyone_ at _their_ lookout could have seen us running into this glade. The last embankment, the one right below the bunker, is _very_ steep. It’s a plateau, in other words.”

“...You’re saying that, from their vantage point, they wouldn't be able to see us if we were at that...er...safe ridge because of that ridge right below their bunker?” Tony took a minute to process Steve's thoughts, staring at him quizzically. 

“Yes, we would be safer than where we are now, private.”

“Wait, how’re they shooting at us if there are two...three ridges separatin’ us from them?” Tony asked as they crawled back to the unit.

“They’re probably firing whenever they see movement, private. Remember that...and for God’s sake, keep your ass down—unless you’re aiming to get it blown off,” Steve mumbled. Tony snorted.

A minute later, Steve’s head poked out of the grasses, greeting a startled unit.

“At ease, soldiers. We've got a plan.”

 

***

The captain went into sparse detail explaining the proposal.

“We’re no good here. Yes, we’re temporarily out of range, but quivering behind rocks won’t win a war.  We have until dusk to reach the next ridge, which will be able to provide reasonable cover for the entire battalion.

The _instant_ we make a bee-line for the ridge, we’re open game. The ground between us and that bunker is large, though the grasses are high throughout. We’ll stream forward, a few men at a time. You are _not_ allowed to advance until you are told to do so. Understand?”

Captain Steve Rogers sat, back against the mound of dirt that the battalion hid behind. He pressed his fingers together on the bridge of his nose and applied slight pressure.

“...And we go forward until we reach that bluff,” Tony finished, faltering on his feet.

 

It began a half hour later.

 

_I remember my father. Everyone respected him. He was a hero—a God among peasants...the town loved him. ‘_ 'Our fair mayor,'  _they’d say. I had always wanted to be like him...a leader...someone that children could look up to; someone that everyone could admire._

Donald Blake was a reserved man around those he was not familiar with. Not as quiet as his brother, who shrank timidly behind him. Blake’s stare was always firm; his brows furrowed and his eyes cold. The two came from wealth and status, though neither mattered during the war. The two put up with conditions that they had never faced before—and they loved it. The reserved life of a well-to-do did not fit Thor; he wanted to see the world and fight evil...to defend his name, and his country.

He remembered the day like it was only a week ago. In fact, it had been almost two years.

_“You’re not really going to sign up for the draft, are you?”_

_“I have to,” Thor says, pushing his brother out of his way. Loki stumbles back, watching his brother plod through the crowd._

_“B-but why? Come on, they have plenty of men already—Thor, wait!” Loki calls, running to catch up with the oaf. Thor turns, briskly._

_“I can’t just sit here while my country needs me, Loki. I know you don’t understand-“_

_“If you’re doing this to impress father, it’ll only make him angry-“_

_“I need to show him I can make my own decisions, Loki!” Thor snaps._

Fast forward. Hidden  by the high grasses on some island deep in the Pacific, sitting on his knees as the sun beat down on his back, Thor felt _almost_ worthy of respect. He grabbed the rim of his helmet and tilted it backwards. He waited. Finally, the sun had begun its decent, leading the day into the early evening. It sat, perched slightly above the treeline behind the unit.

“The light should be interfering with their vision,” he spoke, waving his hand to get Steve’s attention. The captain, crouching down next to Tony, nodded. The two men locked eyes, and then army-crawled into the grasses above the first ridge.

Thor counted under his breath. _33, 34, 35..._

Steve scampered like a rat, trudging forward on his elbows with his gun flopping on his back.

_47, 48, 49...50._ Thor signaled to the next pair of men with a flick of his wrist. They followed in Steve’s fashion and disappeared into the grasses.

Clint and Banner held up the rear of the battalion. Soldiers waiting lay on their stomachs, crawling forward only when the men in front of them moved. Every 50 seconds, another pair vanished to journey towards the next ridge.

“I’m Clint, by the way,” the private stated. Bruce, lost in thought, had been staring dreamily at an insect, perched upon a leaf. He looked up.

“Bruce. Why’re you so special?”

“Sorry?” Clint gave the scientist a stern gaze. Banner scoffed.

“No, I mean, why’d Fury pick you? Are you a special Marine or something?”

Clint sniggered, wiping his brow with his knuckles. “Nah, I’m hardly anything. Maybe he came across my track-record, I dunno. I’m good with a bow n’ arrow...But you can’t really win a war with archery.” The blond man shrugged. “How ‘bout you?”

“I was a scientist. But, I never did anything important. Not like, ‘find the cure for polio’ important—nothing that would make me stand out. I did lab work.”

“I hate to bring us down, and I mean no offence to anyone on this team, but we’re just as average as the rest of this battalion,” Clint murmured, moving ahead on his knees.  

 

***

Steve and Tony made it successfully to the middle of the field before detection. Shots from above flew past them, barely missing where they lay.  

“Shit,” Tony snarled, rolling onto this back to cock his rifle. “Did they see _us_?”

“They couldn't have,” Steve murmured, sitting on his knees and firing towards the left end of the clearing. Suddenly, turned and shouted, “ _Don’t fire! Don’t reveal your positions!_ ”

From the first ridge, Loki looked up. He lay with his chin propped on the back of his hand. “What is he yelling about?” he asked. Only he, Thor, Clint, and Bruce remained at the embankment.

“They saw us—or, probably one person,” Thor replied.

“If that’s the case, Steve wouldn’t want everyone to begin shooting back. We’d completely expose ourselves,” Clint mused, slinging his gun over his shoulders.

“Right then. Let us be off.” Thor clapped his brother’s shoulder, and then proceeded into the brush. Bruce and Clint followed a minute later.

 

***

“We’re still not close enough,” Steve snarled, grabbing a grenade from his jacket. He pulled the pin with his teeth, kissed its shell, unhinged the clip, and then chucked it past the safe ridge. It exploded seconds later, left of the last ridge.

“Holy shit,” Tony breathed, his eyes wide. “We gotta call the Joe DiMaggio, get the Yankees on the phone—“

“Shut up, private,” Steve growled, creeping ahead.

“No, seriously, Cap’ you got the throwing arm of a baseball god—If we invest our money properly, I believ-“ Tony’s ramblings ended with a fine kick in the face. It did not keep him from sneering.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know it's not getting anywhere fast, but give it some time. The next chapter will be better, I promise! I'm still setting the stage, so be patient please. I know it's rough-- this chapter took a while to spin out. I haven't written good fight scenes in a long time-- hell, I don't think I've ever written a war scene (better yet, WWII). I don't know how long this story will be...just expect drama in the next chapter. Feel free to message me if I've messed anything up, like grammar or historical significance or something. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I finished watching the Thin Red Line in my history class the other day-- since then, I've been slowly (but surely) drawing together this AU. It's rough, but I hope it's enjoyable...at least, do a degree. I know this first part was, well, really boring...but hey I gotta start somewhere. Every story's gotta have its framework. The next chapter will be a lot longer, I promise. I digress-- Anyways, this first part is (for lack of better terms) fresh off the press. I'll be editing it and whatnot from time to time, so...sorry for any changes.


End file.
